


Interruptions

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Later,” Porthos vows and Aramis nods.  Too bad later ends up going a little longer than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interruptions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, "Aramis and Porthos keep getting interrupted just as they're about to... erm... get down to business. This time they're determined nothing shall interrupt them!"
> 
> This spans the course (for the most part) of season 3.

It’s been four years and Aramis can hardly breathe when, flat on his back, he looks up at the trees. Porthos soon blocks his view, eyes softer than they’ve been since their reunion – and he leans down and kisses him. Aramis makes a soft breath, involuntary, and arches to kiss him back. The air smells like fire, the remnants of an explosion, but all Aramis wants to focus on is the slant of Porthos’ mouth on his. It’s easy to forget himself, the bark digging into his back, the heavy weight of Porthos’ arm against his ribs. 

“I’ve missed you,” Aramis breathes between kisses and Porthos murmurs something in response, indefinable and indiscernible – but it’s enough that he keeps kissing him, that his hand rests heavy at his hip. Aramis is ready to do whatever is asked of him – four years in a monastery enough to make him ache simply from Porthos’ kiss.

But then the world seems to snap into focus. Above the sound of birds twittering in the trees, there’s the sound of violence in the distance. They can’t stay here, and they know it. Porthos draws back, sighing, and Aramis can’t help the small, involuntary sound of lose as Porthos draws away from him.

“Later,” Porthos vows and Aramis nods. 

 

-

 

As it turns out, though, later is a figurative term. Back in Paris, they’re both too tired, and Aramis simply falls asleep in Porthos’ arms. And that’s enough, that’s more than enough – simply to hold him, to be held – to breathe in the same air as him, to feel the rise and fall of his chest. He can be happy with this. This is more than enough. 

Waking in the morning to slow, unhurried kisses – Aramis’ hands falling to Porthos’ hips. And then there’s the resounding knock at the door and Athos calling that they need to get started. Aramis sucks in a sharp breath and drops his head down against Porthos’ chest, chuckling.

“Later?” Aramis guesses. 

“Later,” Porthos agrees.

 

-

 

Of course, later stretches on. There’s training to undergo, stolen grain, refugee camps. Porthos goes on his own to follow up on a hunch and Aramis, well – Aramis gets to meet Sylvie. Later, then, becomes that night – except Porthos is tired, his body aching, his eyes distant as he looks up at the ceiling. 

“Hunger,” he tells Aramis as Aramis curls up to his side. He sighs out and leans into Aramis’ touch, lets Aramis kiss him a few times until they both settle. Porthos sighs. “Hunger can be worse than war.” 

Aramis touches his cheek and lets him sleep. 

 

-

 

Later, then – Porthos pressing Aramis to a wall, kissing him steady and slow. Aramis, keening just from that, already so on edge – needing to touch Porthos. He’s already unhooking the straps of his armor when there’s another pounding on the door. 

It’s d’Artagnan this time with a shouted, “We need to go get our new uniforms!” 

“Damn it,” Aramis hisses out and thumps his head against the wall. And then feels guilty for damning God, out of sexual frustration or otherwise. He groans and drags Porthos in by the back of his neck, resting his forehead to his and then kissing him a few times. “Surely if we ignore him, he’ll go away, right?”

Porthos chuckles, drags his mouth over Aramis’ – and then steps back. “Come on. You can’t wander around in that old leather for much longer.” 

 

-

 

Later, dragging his eyes down Porthos’ new uniform, the slump of his new armor – and reaching for him. “You should fuck me in that,” he tells him, fire in his eyes. “You should—”

A knock at the door. Aramis almost swears again and almost doesn’t feel guilty about it. 

“Come on, you lot,” Constance says, wrapping on the door as she pokes her head in. “You’re needed.”

 

-

 

Later, the tavern dimly lit, Aramis pressing his foot up against Porthos’ in the shadows of the table and saying, “You know, we could always go—”

And then the tavern brawl breaks out. 

 

-

 

Later, walking the streets, Porthos purchasing a few pears and tossing one to Aramis. 

Aramis, taking a crisp bite, and then musing aloud to Porthos, “You know, we have a few hours before we need to be on duty. We could…”

And then the woman at the fruit stand starts shrieking about a thief running off with her coins. 

 

-

 

Later never comes. There’s d’Artagnan knocking on the door. There’s Athos giving them orders from Treville. There’s Treville asking after their health. There’s Constance wanting money for breakfast. There’s the criminals and their poor timing. There’s the Red Guard and their abysmal timing. 

Later. Later, always later. 

 

-

 

“That is it!” Aramis declares, and the new stableboy who’s just run up to them to ask how to properly dress down a horse stumbles back in surprise. “No, we’re busy!” 

Porthos gives him a vaguely scolding look and Aramis sags forward and jerks his chin towards d’Artagnan across the yard in apology. “Ask d’Artagnan… he used to own a farm. He’ll be a better teacher than us.” 

The boy nods and darts off, eager to get away from Aramis and his apparent mood. When Aramis turns towards Porthos, Porthos is giving him a vaguely scandalized look, his eyebrows lifted. 

“Oh,” Aramis sighs. “Don’t give me that look.” 

“What’s wrong?” Porthos asks, as if he doesn’t know Aramis was about to drag him back to their room before the stablehand came over. 

“It’s been weeks. I’ve been back with you for weeks and I haven’t been able to touch you at all,” Aramis says. He’s being somewhat dramatic, but, at the same time, Porthos has no business spending the last few weeks being devastatingly handsome and yet untouchable. 

Porthos stares at him for a moment. And then – he starts to laugh. 

“Hey,” Aramis says, and does not pout.

Porthos reaches out, grabs him gently by the wrist, and pulls him off towards Porthos’ room. Aramis does not protest. 

“Come on,” Porthos tells him, pulls him into his room, locks the door, and presses him up against it. 

Aramis goes breathless. It’s been such a long time – he’s on edge, he’s ready. He reaches for Porthos and Porthos bows down to his mouth, kisses him quietly. 

There’s a knock at the door. They both ignore it, Aramis’ arms curling up around Porthos’ neck to keep him close. Porthos’ hands steady at his hips, pressing him up against the door. There’s another knock. They ignore it. 

Eventually, the knocking stops. Aramis stops paying attention to anything but Porthos’ hands.


End file.
